


Missing You

by deanlockiradall



Category: Founder of Diabolism, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Mo Dao Zu Shi, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One Shot, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlockiradall/pseuds/deanlockiradall
Summary: Wei Wuxian is gone, and Lan Wangji is left to put himself back together.
Relationships: Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji | Wei Ying/Lan Zhan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Missing You

The year that Lan Wangji tried Emperor’s Smile for the first time was the same year that he drank two jars all in one go and thereby got blackout drunk. Wei Wuxian would have laughed himself silly, but of course Wei Wuxian wasn’t there, was he, and that was the whole point. If he _were_ here, he’d be the one drinking, and he wouldn’t have been fazed by one jar or even two. Lan Wangji wasn’t sure how many jars would be required to get Wei Wuxian properly drunk, or even what being properly drunk entailed—medical texts spoke of impaired motor functions, flawed logic, perhaps nausea and sleepiness, but that was all about the brain, not about the feeling, and how flushed was flushed anyway? It wasn’t like he stared at himself in the mirror when consuming alcohol.

What Lan Wangji _was_ sure of, though, was that he was feeling distinctly different after the first jar, but not in a way that he could easily identify. He might have tripped over Bichen when crossing the room, and he might have imagined Wei Wuxian watching him with amusement and saying something like _Lan Zhan, who would have known that you could be clumsy, too_. Lan Wangji might have felt the tips of his ears warm at the thought, but maybe that was just the alcohol.

_The Lan sect really can’t hold their drink—is that why alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?_ Wei Wuxian would say, lounging against the dark wood table in that carefree manner of his, black hair spilling over his hand and down his shoulder. “What a shame, since Gusu makes such good Emperor’s Smile.”

It was all in his head, he knew that, but Lan Wangji’s self-control was always challenged when Wei Wuxian was involved, so he picked up the second jar that he’d snuck in, tossed the red seal to the floor, and tipped the jar to his lips. It wasn’t like him at all, and if he wasn’t already drunk, his sect conditioning would be screaming, his brother would be speechless, and his uncle would be purple with fury. “Don’t be like that wayward Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren would shout. “Show respect to the clan that raised you! Uphold the values that you’ve been taught!”

But he’d upheld those values, and what had happened? His hands had been tied, he’d questioned everything he knew, and Wei Wuxian was dead. What was wrong and what was right? What was black and what was white? How many shades of gray were tolerated before the world branded you a traitor instead of a genius?

_He should be here drinking this_. But he wasn’t. So Lan Wangji drained the second jar in his stead.

_Cheers, Lan Zhan._ Grinning face, laughing eyes.

“‘Emperor’s Smile. I’ll share some with you,’” Lan Wangji mumbled. “So don’t tell Uncle you saw this, all right?”

***

In hindsight, the second jar really had been too much.

Lan Wangji came to his senses to a throbbing pain, piercing light, and a concerned hubbub of voices, which he gradually identified as belonging to his brother and uncle. There was also the acrid odor of scorched meat; just as his mind identified the smell, his stomach rebelled in a fit of nausea, forcing him to scramble partway up—when had he lain down?—to vomit over the side of his bed.

The sudden movement triggered a sharp pain in his torso, which localized the throbbing pain to two places: his head (the bright afternoon light wasn’t helping), and his chest (when had he taken off his clothes?). He groaned; instantly, hands held a cup of cold water to his lips and helped him drink, then handed him a basin to rinse his mouth and spit before pushing him back down. He was vaguely aware of someone cleaning the mess off of his floor.

“Wangji,” his brother said softly. “Why did you do it?”

Lan Wangji didn’t know what he meant, but after his stomach had settled enough to drink some restorative tea (clearing his hangover, who knew?), Lan Xichen helped him sit up and showed him the scorch mark over his heart, identical to the one Wei Wuxian had gotten from Wen Chao’s mistress. In fact, his brother continued, when Lan Wangji hadn’t responded to the usual morning summons from the younger disciples, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had entered his chambers to find him passed out on the floor with two empty jars of Emperor’s Smile and the iron brand confiscated from the Wen Sect after the Sunshot Campaign. Lan Wangji had no recollection of fetching it from the Lan Sect storage houses, but he must have, because none of the disciples had reported seeing him after he retired for the night. Lan Wangji had been moved to his bed, his wound treated, his room tidied, and there he’d lain until he regained consciousness.

_He was foolish_ , Lan Wangji had told himself when Wei Wuxian had screamed from the pain in the Xuanwu cave. _He took the risk when he dove in from of the Jin sect girl. He knew what could happen._

“I couldn’t take the wound for him,” he found himself saying. “Back then, he saved people, and I couldn’t save him.”

He didn’t see Lan Xichen’s eyes widen or Lan Qiren’s face turn purple. He only registered their shock because he surprised himself with the truth.

“Wangji, hurting yourself won’t bring him back,” Lan Xichen said at last. “You’ll only cause yourself more pain.”

Lan Wangji didn’t respond, and at last they left him in peace, or at least in quiet, though he could hear his uncle explode as soon as the door slid shut. But it didn’t matter, none of it did, because Lan Wangji had been tested, and for the first time, he’d failed. Too bad the one time he failed was the one time it really counted.

***

He went into seclusion after that, or at least, that’s what the GusuLan sect told curious outsiders. In reality, he was recovering, supposedly putting the pieces of himself back together.

He’d taken his punishment from his uncle—thirty-three whip slashes, one for each of the sect disciples he’d fought at the Burial Mounds—and he didn’t try to burn himself again. He wouldn’t have been able to, in any case. The brand had been placed in the Forbidden Chamber, and only Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren could grant access to it.

Most importantly, he stopped drinking, though he still snuck in jars of Emperor’s Smile whenever the urge to imbibe came over him (often coinciding with a sudden memory of Wei Wuxian). Despite the aches on his back, he would will himself to his feet, then slip down to town at night and take some, leaving money behind as payment. The merchants grew accustomed to opening their shops in the morning to find a jar missing from their inventory and a silver tael or two on their countertops. “The mystery benefactor visited again,” they’d say to one another. “Today will be a good day for sales!”

As for what happened to the jars themselves? Well, nothing really. They were reminders, nothing more. Lan Wangji would carry them back, reliving memory after memory, mistake after mistake, hesitation after hesitation. Then, upon reaching his chambers with no one the wiser, he would force himself back to the present, open up a secret compartment in his floor, and set the Emperor’s Smile inside, sealing it up as he sealed away his past. Until the next time, because there was always a next time.

***

It was Ghost Month. The seventh month of the year, when spirits of the dead returned to the land of the living. Ghost Month had four edicts that were required to be followed at all costs:

  * One must not go out alone at night.
  * One must not go swimming, particularly at night.
  * One must not hang laundry outside to dry at night.
  * One must hang red lanterns outside one’s house to ward away ghosts and malicious spirits.



Lan Wangji followed none of them.

Rules were put in place for a reason. Ghost Month rules were no exception.

It is common knowledge that monsters and spirits are most active at night, and are constantly attracted to the _yang_ energy of living humans. A solitary walk in the dark, especially in relatively uninhabited areas, risks possession, kidnapping, or worse. If a vengeful spirit doesn’t get you, an enterprising brigand might.

Swimming during Ghost Month has a similar reason behind the prohibition. While the people of Gusu are generally strong swimmers, it is unwise to risk being dragged under by water ghouls or vengeful spirits of the drowned.

Hanging laundry out to dry overnight risks possession. Ghosts of the dead may assume the clothes are offerings and try to wear them, then possess the living being who unknowingly puts them on afterward.

Lit red lanterns tell the spirits that offerings have been made to them, so they should leave the living in peace. Thus, the dead can return to the afterlife knowing that they have not been forgotten.

For most people, these Ghost Month rules are necessary precautions. The wrath of vengeful ghosts can be terrifying, and even the most well-meaning ghost is not always kind.

However, it is common knowledge that Lan Wangji is not like most people. Even in his weakened state, he is more than capable of dealing with small fry that like to come bother humans during Ghost Month, and ever since his blackout incident, his family and the inner clan members had become concerned about his growing recklessness.

While he hadn’t gotten drunk again, Ghost Month was a risky time. The whole cultivation world feared the Yiling Patriarch’s vengeful return, and made preparations to summon his spirit and keep it in isolation to prevent another disaster like the slaughter at Nightless City.

Lan Wangji, on the other hand, seemed to do the opposite. He purposely went out after dark every night, and stopped carrying protective talismans to ward off evil spirits. He couldn’t swim, because of his healing wounds, but he walked along the shoreline of Biling Lake within easy reach of water ghouls and the Waterborne Abyss still haunting its waters. It was unlikely that Wei Wuxian would manifest as a water spirit, but he spoke enough about Lotus Pier in Yunmeng that the possibility wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Though the younger disciples of the sect were responsible for mundane things like laundry, Lan Wangji would take his clothes back before they were dry, and hang them outside once night fell.

The red lanterns were a trickier situation. On one hand, there was the moral quandary of his own ancestors, and the older clan members’ attitude toward his late mother. On the other, there was his primary goal. In the end, Lan Wangji did nothing to prevent disciples from lighting the lanterns, but he would always extinguish them after the disciples left.

Had circumstances not been so tense, it could almost have become a game. For every edict that Lan Wangji broke, someone would quietly come by and try to rectify it, only for him to break the rules once more. If someone lit the red lantern outside his rooms, he would put it out. If someone took down his clothes, he would hang them up again. If someone respectfully requested that he return home after dark, he would walk back with them, but go out again once he was left alone.

With each new report of his small rebellions, Lan Qiren pulled another hair out of his beard. Even Lan Xichen started getting a headache. But he knew that even if he asked Lan Wangji to stop, he would be met with silence, only to receive more reports later. Wangji would stop on his own, either because he finally came to his senses or because he finally achieved his goal. At times, even Lan Xichen wasn’t sure which one he hoped would come to pass.

In the end, all the GusuLan sect could do was strengthen the wards around the Cloud Recesses, make more talismans, and hone their cultivation skills to be ready at a moment’s notice. Outsiders observed that the Lan sect disciples, who were already very strong to begin with, reached new levels that year. Guest disciples who were accepted after Ghost Month were also met with higher standards and had to work much harder than their predecessors. Punishments for transgressions also became more severe, but resulted in marked improvements in handwriting and agility, so no one complained much.

Regardless, the back and forth between Lan Wangji and the Lan sect came to nothing. Wei Wuxian never reappeared, no matter how many openings Lan Wangji left as invitations, nor the soul-summoning rituals prepared by other powerful cultivators. Realistically, neither circumstance was likely to succeed. The protections around the Cloud Recesses were designed to withstand attacks more powerful than the most vengeful of spirits, so even if Wei Wuxian did come back, it was unlikely that he would be able to break through, even with Lan Wangji’s purposeful weakening of the barriers.

As for the summoning rituals, conflicting rumors circulated regarding Wei Wuxian’s soul: as a disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang sect, he should have undergone a ceremony to prevent his spirit from becoming a vengeful ghost; it was standard practice for all cultivators, especially for large clans like the YunmengJiang Sect, the LanlingJin Sect, the GusuLan Sect, and the QingheNie Sect. So no matter what, he shouldn’t be able to come back and cause trouble.

But, said others, the Yiling Patriarch was also a demonic cultivator; he created the Stygian Tiger Seal, which could kill three thousand cultivators in one go; compared to that, a vengeful ghost curse should be a piece of cake. Remember how easily he controlled the Ghost General? And anyway, wasn’t there also a rumor in which he told the Wen sect that he’d never undergone the ceremony? So perhaps he could come back after all….

In any case, Ghost Month ended without any major incidents, and the cultivation world breathed a collective sigh of relief—at least until preparations began for Ghost Month the following year. As for the Lan clan, they too calmed down when Lan Wangji left off his passive rebellion, and in fact seemed to return to devoting himself to his physical recovery and cultivation training.

However, when Lan Xichen discovered that the song Lan Wangji played the most was “Inquiry,” he did his best to hide his concerned frown under a stoic expression and discreetly make arrangements for his uncle to have regular access to calming tea.

***

Eventually, Lan Wangji was deemed recovered enough to return to night-hunting and cultivation duties outside of the Cloud Recesses. From then on, he was gone more often than he was home, particularly during Ghost Month. The Lan clan could finally breathe freely again, and Lan Qiren began to reshape his beard. Lan Xichen’s unease lingered, but as sect leader, he had more pressing duties to attend to; as long as Lan Wangji wasn’t causing trouble outside of the Cloud Recesses, he had little choice but to let things slide and hope his brother knew what he was doing.

In fact, whatever Lan Wangji was doing, he was also garnering a reputation. After ending his long period of seclusion, he once again became known as one of the world’s top cultivators—Han Guang-jun, the Twin Jade of the Lan sect who always appeared wherever there was trouble. However, whether trouble arrived first or he did was sometimes hard to tell, and to be frank, most people weren’t paying much attention to the details, only the news that circulated afterward.

If he had been there, Lan Xichen might have noticed the curious lack of defenses on Lan Wangji’s person, or the fact that Lan Wangji was battling more spirits during his travels compared to other cultivators. He might have noticed the frequency with which Lan Wangji played “Inquiry” before he went to sleep most nights. He definitely would have noticed that during Ghost Month, Lan Wangji consistently broke all the edicts meant to protect against the vengeful dead, and would leave offerings of lotus-pork-rib soup and a jar of alcohol on a small table outside his (very rural) lodgings every night. If Wangji was disappointed to find his offerings untouched, his songs unheard, his invitations unnoticed, well, perhaps not even Lan Xichen would be able to tell without some conjecture.

But Lan Xichen was busy, and Lan Wangji was alone, and things continued on like this for a decade.

Once, Lan Wangji thought he saw the sleeve of his outer robe wave while it was hanging to dry, but that could have just been the wind.

Another time, the soup was gone and the alcohol jar empty, but confused, meandering tracks suggested a drunk raccoon.

Flowers scattered in his hair one night, and he thought he heard a laugh, but he later discovered it was just a mischievous nymph.

Even so, he continued on. On and on and on until one day he was called to assist some junior disciples with a demonic arm and a possessed statue, and ran into a disgraced ex-guest-disciple of the LanlingJin sect. He played the flute horribly, butchering the melody enough to set Lan Wangji’s teeth on edge (had the Jin disciple played the flute before? Lan Wangji couldn’t recall), but the melody was so familiar, so uniquely known, that there could be no room for doubt.

Of course it made no difference that Lan Wangji had prepared so carefully, rebelled so long, broken so many rules. Offerings, clothes, discarded wards—none of it mattered.

Good or evil, Wei Wuxian was a free spirit—his return would be his choice and his choice only.

Lan Wangji smiled. Despite everything—because of everything—he wouldn’t have him any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> The Ghost Month rules are inspired by real Ghost Month traditions that I learned about in Kinmen, Taiwan. Some of them seemed to have conflicting versions, so apologies if some are incorrect! Feel free to let me know in the comments :)


End file.
